


Thump in the Night

by occidorien



Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: F/F, Originally Posted on LiveJournal, from the wayback, in honor of spoopy season
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:26:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27287140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/occidorien/pseuds/occidorien
Summary: Andy shivered as she felt cold air from beneath the attic door slither across her feet. She put her hand on the knob. A particularly strong gust of wind shook the windows of the townhouse again, and a high keening noise sounded from behind the door.
Relationships: Miranda Priestly/Andrea Sachs
Comments: 4
Kudos: 129





	Thump in the Night

Andy cursed the blustery wind again as another gust kicked leaves up into her face, whirling and wreathing her in undulating hues of ochre and amber, auburn and deep carmine. It seemed fitting that the first truly cold night of autumn had fallen on Halloween; on a night when Roy was tasked with ferrying the twins to various parties thrown by Dalton pals, and she had to deliver the Book to Miranda on foot. She wrapped the buttery soft, criminally warm, suede Burberry trench coat tighter, a loaner courtesy of Nigel, and hugged the Book closer for fear that an unexpected blast of wind might tear it from her hands. “Better you than me,” Nigel had said that afternoon when Andy complained about having to walk in such shitty weather.

And shitty weather it was. Everybody was saying so. It was practically the only thing talked about at Runway that day, except fashion, of course. There had been an awkward moment of silence during the afternoon’s run-through when what sounded like a squall rampaged up Sixth Avenue, causing the windows to shake. After it blew through, Miranda had muttered “Oh, my,” and then finished the meeting as if nothing had happened. Andy had scribbled madly to keep up, already horrified at what she’d have to endure later that evening.

Finally, it was later and she was just a block away from Miranda’s townhouse, passing festively decorated homes and their revelers, safely ensconced and warm with loved ones and candy and scary movies and— _fuck this_. It was silly to be having sentimental feelings about Nate since he was long gone, but this would be their first Halloween apart and she couldn’t help missing his easy familiarity; particularly while trudging the Upper East Side in frigid wind with nothing to hold onto but a mockup of a disposable magazine, which Miranda cared more about than Andy’s well-being. On a night like this, what kind of boss didn’t even leave money for a cab? The kind that hangs friends out to dry. The kind that looks small and vulnerable in a faded gray robe, eyes reddened with tears, and makes an assistant want to gather her close, soothe her and— _fuck this_.

Andy let herself into Miranda’s townhouse and struggled to push the door closed against the wind, which howled and whistled through the cracks before letting up so that she stumbled backwards. The door slammed shut so hard the windows rattled. Andy winced and rested her back against the door. “Damn it.” 

When she opened her eyes, she noticed every light in the townhouse seemed to be on and Miranda was hovering in the doorway to the kitchen. “Miranda!” Andy straightened, futilely attempting to smooth her wind-disheveled hair. “Sorry about the door. The wind’s killer...” Andy trailed off when she noticed Miranda looking at her as if she’d seen, well, a ghost. “Are you all right?”

Miranda shook her head, a slight back and forth motion.

Really concerned now, Andy moved toward her, depositing the Book on the nearest table. “Has something happened to the girls?”

Again, Miranda shook her head. She began to speak, but it was nothing but a rasp. Clearing her throat, she said, “The girls are fine.”

“Oh.” Andy stopped, unsure what to do. “Um, well, what’s wrong?” She noticed Miranda had changed into a slinky black dress, probably in preparation for a night out, but she was still in stocking feet. “You’ve got all the lights on.” Andy could’ve kicked herself for stating the obvious.

Miranda managed to give a half-withering glare. “I heard a noise.”

“Oh. Like someone trying to get in?”

“In the attic.”

“Oh.” Andy wondered if this was some kind of joke. Miranda would be more the trick than the treat type. She couldn’t help looking skeptical. “It was probably just the wind. It’s—”

“Killer. I know.” Miranda waved a dismissive hand. “That’s all.”

What the hell? Whatever had scared Miranda obviously hadn’t done a good enough job. “You know what? Fine. Just trying to help. Good night, Miranda. Happy Hallo—”

The lights went out and Andy was pretty sure she heard a startled yelp.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Andy froze. That was definitely coming from upstairs.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Andy couldn’t see a thing. Where had Miranda gone? Had Miranda actually yelped? “Miranda?” Andy whispered.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

“See?” Miranda said, very close to Andy’s ear.

Andy screamed, which caused Miranda to scream as well.

“Jesus Christ! Didn’t anyone tell you it’s not nice to sneak up on people in the dark, Miranda?” Andy took deep, calming breaths, catching the scent of Miranda’s perfume, subtle, a hint of musk—

“Did you have to scream?” Miranda whispered, but Andy could still hear the disdain.

“You scared me!” Andy whispered back harshly.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

“What the hell _is_ that?”

“I don’t know. I’m sure it’s coming from the attic. You should go look.”

“Me? This is your house. You go.”

Miranda was silent; Andy could feel her debating.

“If you start for the stairs, I’ll go find the breaker box—”

Thump. Thump. Thump.

“Miranda...”

“Fine.”

Neither of them moved.

“Do you have a flashlight or something?”

“In the kitchen. But—”

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Neither of them moved.

“We’ll go together, okay?” Andy said.

“Fine.” Miranda sniffed.

Andy waited for a moment, uncertain whether Miranda had already started toward the kitchen. “Miranda?”

“What?”

“I’m standing in the dark in an unfamiliar house. You’re gonna have to help me out here.”

Again, Andy could feel Miranda debating. Then: “Take my hand.”

Andy reached out blindly and moved her hand back and forth until it was caught in Miranda’s delicate, firm grasp. She blushed, and thanked God it was pitch black.

“Ready?” Miranda whispered.

“Yes—oh, wait. I need to get out of these shoes if we’re going to sneak around. My feet are killing me after that walk.” Andy used Miranda’s hand to balance herself as she reached down to slip off her four-inch Gucci heels.

“You walked?”

“I took the subway part of the way, but there was some mechanical problem so I had to walk the rest of the way.”

“Why didn’t you call a cab?”

Andy wanted to say it would’ve been helpful if Miranda’d left some money for a cab, since delivering the Book was Runway business and the weather blah blah blah... “I’m saving my cash for the cab ride home.”

Thump. Thump. Thump.

There was awkward silence and Andy wished she could see Miranda’s face. “Anyway...” Andy whispered, “I’m ready.”

It could’ve been that Miranda was merely shifting positions, turning away to lead them on to the kitchen, but Andy was sure she felt Miranda tighten her grip.

When they reached the kitchen, Miranda let go of Andy’s hand, and Andy decided not to think about how empty it felt. She heard Miranda rummaging through a drawer, then a click, and the world was illuminated again. She squinted as her eyes adjusted. Miranda was looking at her oddly; her face looked flush in the low light.

“The only way into the attic is from the back stairs,” Miranda said. “Follow me.”

The back stairs were narrow, old, and uncarpeted, each creaky step echoed in the passageway. Andy’s breathing seemed loud, partly, she was sure, because the thumping grew louder with each floor they passed, but also because she was transfixed by the sway of Miranda’s ass. 

All right, so she was infatuated with her boss. Her sexy, tyrannical, older boss, who was apparently afraid of things that went bump in the night. Andy smiled. It was kind of cute when she thought about it. She wondered what Caroline and Cassidy would think about seeing Miranda freaked out. If the girls were there, Miranda probably would have put on a brave face and investigated the noise; the thought of which made Andy’s belly warm in a very scary way. Shit. She was screwed.

She was too busy thinking about just how screwed she was that she didn’t notice Miranda had stopped walking and ran face first into said ass with a muffled “Oof.” 

The light wobbled as Miranda jostled, but was soon righted before she rounded on Andy, wide-eyed.

Blushing, Andy stammered, “I-I-I’m so sorry! I didn’t see that you’d stopped. Um...”

Miranda didn’t say a word, just stared at Andy, towering over her with a scathing-outraged-shocked look.

THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.

Andy laughed nervously. “I feel like this is out of _The Tell-Tale Heart_.”

Miranda’s gaze sharpened. “You haven’t killed anybody, have you, Andrea?”

“Um, no...” Andy swallowed; her throat was dry. “But, in this light, you do have these intense, pale blue eyes...” Oh, god. She was so screwed.

THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.

“Yes, well,” Miranda’s voice sounded quiet, husky; she cleared her throat. “The attic’s at the top of this last flight.” She looked at Andy, assessing, then held out the flashlight. “You lead,” she said, and smirked.

Accepting the challenge, Andy took the flashlight and stepped onto the landing. On equal footing, she was taller than Miranda. She shined the light up the stairs, then looked back at Miranda and said, “‘I heard all things in the heaven and in the earth. I heard many things in hell. How, then, am I mad?’”

Andy shivered as she felt cold air from beneath the attic door slither across her feet. She put her hand on the knob. A particularly strong gust of wind shook the windows of the townhouse again, and a high keening noise sounded from behind the door. Then:

_THUMP. THUMP. THUMP._

“Just open it already,” Miranda hissed. So Andy did.

Of course, it slowly, loudly, creaked open.

“Why don’t you just announce our presence?”

“It’d be kind of hard to sneak up on a ghost, Miranda. Anyway, a little WD-40 works wonders.” 

Andy stepped into the attic, which was both frigid and surprisingly cluttered. Stacks of boxes, as well as haphazardly placed pieces of what looked to be antique furniture, obscured the far wall of the room. Other pieces of furniture, or maybe artwork or mirrors, Andy wasn’t sure, were covered in white shrouds, and lined the walls running the length of attic. She noticed the shrouds moving, rippling, and shivered. With the flashlight, Andy made out one narrow pathway leading farther back into the dark. Somehow it figured Miranda would have the creepiest attic she’d ever seen.

_THUMP. THUMP. THUMP._

Miranda gasped.

“You stay here,” Andy whispered. “There’s not enough room for us both.”

Miranda nodded. Andy nodded once, too, and they stared at each other. Andy knew it was ridiculous, but the moment had the feel of a goodbye, as if Andy was going off to war or something. She nodded again, then set off into the dark of Miranda’s attic with grim determination.

She wound her way past boxes and furniture, careful not to jar anything, and was thankful she still had her coat on. The wind howled and the high keening noise resounded, along with the requisite thumping. Andy didn’t think it was anything supernatural, but she was curious to know just what the hell was making that sound. As she passed the last group of boxes, the attic’s far wall came into view, and it was just as she thought: a tree limb had busted through the attic’s window — granted, a freaky, _Poltergeist_ -looking tree limb — and was hitting the frame every time the wind blew; the high keening-whistle noise was only the wind through the broken glass. She couldn’t get close enough to the window to really assess the damage because broken glass littered the floor. Regardless, she could report back to Miranda that there was no ghost, just a pending insurance claim.

Smiling, Andy turned around to head back, and promptly collided with Miranda. She screamed and dropped the flashlight, which flickered then went out. “Goddamnit, Miranda!”

Miranda's chuckle was low. “I was coming to tell you the power’s back on.”

Andy felt Miranda’s breath on her face and all thoughts of calming down were forgotten. She couldn’t speak, positive that her mind had shorted out due to Miranda’s nearness.

“Andrea?” 

“Hm?”

Then Andy felt it, Miranda’s hand, settle gently on her chest, just above her heart.

“‘And now—,” Miranda whispered, “‘have I not told you that what you mistake for madness is but over acuteness of the senses?— now, I say, there came to my ears a low, dull, quick sound—much such a sound as a watch makes when enveloped in cotton. I knew that sound well, too.’”

Unable to stop herself, and not really wanting to, Andy closed the small gap between them and pressed her lips to Miranda’s. It was a kiss of relief, fraught with the tension of the evening and its sudden dissipation, making way for a new kind of tension—one much more dangerous.

Faraway, Andy heard a loud thud. They broke apart as if caught and stood looking at each other, uncertain.

“Mom?” the twins called out. “Mom, we’re home!”

“Um,” Andy said, her voice thick, “I should probably go.”

Miranda started to nod, looking confused, but then stopped. “No. Stay. At least for while. Have some tea and warm up. It’s freezing up here.”

“MOM!”

Andy nodded, picked up the flashlight, and followed Miranda back toward the door. “I’ll call the insurance company first thing in the morning.”

Miranda nodded as she descended the stairs. Andy shut the door on the cold and didn’t look back.

**Author's Note:**

> This story grew from a prompt posted long ago to livejournal by damelola: Miranda/Andy, haunted (town)house.


End file.
